


To the Note

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are both getting notes.  What could it mean and why now?  Written for Unconventional courtship:</p><p>Based on prompt 144  Switch -Megan Hart</p><p> Don't think. Don't question. Just do. The anonymous note wasn't for me obviously. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in the habit of reading other people's mail, but it was just a piece of paper with a few lines scrawled on it, clearly meant for someone else. It looked so innocent, but decidedly—deliciously—it was not. I devoured its contents: suggestions, instructions, commands. Each was more daring, more intricate and more arousing than the last... and I followed them all to the letter. Before the notes, if a man had told me what to do, I'd have told him where to go. But submission is an art, and there's something oddly freeing about doing someone's bidding...especially when it feels so very, very good. But I find that the more I surrender, the more powerful I feel—so it's time to switch up roles. We play by my rules now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Note

The slip of paper caught my eye as I was reaching for a roll of tape.  I’d torn the report I’d been working on.  It was clear the report needed to be made of tougher paper or I needed a better eraser.  Thus distracted, I didn’t actually ‘see’ the paper immediately.  Letting my eyes wander back, I saw it dropped between a day-old stained paper cup and a pile of bent and twisted paper clips.

Frowning, I reached for it without even really thinking about it.  Unfolding it, I read it slowly.  _Don't think. Don't question. Just do._

“Huh?”  I blurted the word without realizing it.  That caught my partner’s attention.

“Is there something wrong, Napoleon?”  He was having his own battle with a sheet of much used carbon paper.

“No… just tore the report again.”  I put my hand over the note.  He didn’t seem to notice.

“You need a softer touch.”

That made me bristle.  “My touch is plenty… soft.”

“So I’ve been told.”  He went back to his own work and I eased my hand off the note to read it again.  _Don't think. Don't question. Just do._ If I’d been alone, I might have scratched my head.  _Just do what?_  I wondered.  And where did it come from?  I let my gaze drift to Illya.  He would be the likely source, but what did he mean by this?  Just do what?

                                                                                *****

I found the note when I came in that morning.  It was sitting in the middle of my desk, looking very untidy and a bit out of place.  I don’t like things that are out of place.

Setting the cups of coffee down, I shook my hands to cool them and picked up the folded sheet of paper.  _I’m watching you_.

I looked around the room.  The office I shared with my partner wasn’t huge.  In fact, it was probably a bit on the small side for one person, yet we shared it and didn’t mind.  It wasn’t as if either of us spend much in here anyway.

Sitting down carefully, I studied the note.  It was typed, so that was no help and pretty much everyone had access to our office.

“This is probably why disconnecting those camera wasn’t such a great idea,” I murmured.  We disconnected the surveillance cameras years ago.  Maintenance reconnected the cameras.  We disconnected them again.  It was a game we played.  After a while, they got the message and left them alone.  We won, but at the moment I felt that we’d lost.  If they had been working, I would have my answer.

Pursing my lips, I concentrated.  Who would know the cameras weren’t working besides Maintenance? 

I shoved the note into my top drawer along with all the other bits of paper I’ve collected over the years and concentrated upon the report in the top file.  Yet my mind kept wandered back to the note.

  _I’m watching you_.  But who and why?  The comment was vaguely threatening, but could also be interpreted as a reassurance.    Besides Napoleon, who would bother?

My partner came in just them and dropped his briefcase on his desk.   He looked a little blurry around the edges.

“Late night?”

He responded with a grunt and collapsed into his chair.  There were moments like these when assignment could be more of a blessing than a curse.

  “I brought you coffee.”  I passed over one of the cups and he took it as if I was offering life’s salvation.

“Bless you.”

“Should I sneeze?”  I grinned and went back to work.  I pushed the note aside and lifted out a sheet of carbon paper.  It was nearly see through, but I’d rather use it than try to requisition another one.  This sheet had practically cost me a kidney.  I looked at the note again and wondered.  _Why had Napoleon left it for me?  Why did he feel it was necessary to tell me this?_

                                                                                ****

I never had a chance to broach the subject with Illya.  Life with UNCLE was very much like a kernel of popcorn.  You never knew when the world would explode around you.  Ours took the form of a surveillance gone badly.  I’d taken my THRUSH agent down, but at the expense of my suit and a pair of hand tooled Italian shoes.  A swim in the Hudson never did anyone any good. Thankfully Illya was there to pull me out and we went on to save the day, each in our own way.

I stopped at headquarters, per Waverly’s request and gave him a fast report.  I think the stink hanging on me was the impetus to send me on my way.  Illya had spent a couple of hours looking through garbage bins, so I imagine he was even worse than me.

Shuddering, I stopped in the entryway of my apartment and stripped.  There was no way I was subjecting my Ranila carpeting to the Hudson.   I left everything in a damp fragrant pile on the marble tile, resolved to determine their fate after a long shower and possible a double scotch.

The alcohol won out and I paused to grab my robe and then, happily bundled in that familiar blue terrycloth, I headed for my wet bar.

Reaching for a glass, I saw it – a note.  My hackles went up.  Someone had been in my apartment and might still be here.  Everything flew from my mind as I went into full alert mode.  Walking quickly but casually, I retrieved my gun and did a room-by-room search.

I wasn’t completely surprised that it was empty.  Whoever had been here knew my habits and was quite probably aware of my movements.

Dropping the Walther into my robe pocket, I went back to the bar and plucked out the note.

_Imagine I’m with you.  Do it!_

That one made even less sense.  Do what?

I crumbled it up and lobbed it into the waste basket.  The thought of a shower was too enticing to worry about it at the moment.

The luxury of a long hot shower should be a constitutional right of everyone.  I let the water cascade over me, driving the chill from my bones and the stink from my skin and hair.  Lathering up, my hands wandered aimlessly over my body and I wasn’t even consciously aware that they had stopped one my genitals.

While it was more fun with company, there was nothing wrong with pleasuring yourself and I was an old hand at it.  Closing my eyes, I smiled at my play on words even while my hands were otherwise busy.

 _Imagine I’m with you.  Do it!_   The words sprang to mind and without bidding otherwise, Illya was suddenly there with me, sharing in this most intimate of moments.  It felt right, even though it should have felt wrong.   I tried to imagine his hands so capable, willing, and able, replacing mine and gasped at the strength in them.  I knew the feeling of his fingers against my skin, stroking me, breaching me.  I moaned and whined in response to the feelings he elicited.  My orgasm, when it finally came nearly blew the tempered glass out of the shower door.  I collapsed to the shower floor, not even realizing the water had turned from hot to cool.  My skin tingled with the memory of Illya’s fingers on it.

I panted as reality drifted back and with it a thought escaped my lips without my bidding.  “Oh my God… Illya?”  Could it be possible that I was in love with Illya?

                                                                                ****

My apartment was barely large enough to be considered a closet by some people, mostly notably my partner.  Napoleon has a callous attitude about my place, but I don’t care.  It’s mine and I don’t have to share my bathroom, my food or my bed with anyone.  Although after a day like today, I wouldn’t really mind the company.

I nearly lost Napoleon to the river, damn filthy thing.  Just to have him back on solid grounds I very nearly hugged him.  That wouldn’t be very manly, though, and Napoleon wouldn’t appreciate it.

Taking off my coat, I tossed it over the back of a chair and headed for the kitchen for a time-honored ritual, at least to my way of thinking.  After a successful or even unsuccessful affair, there was nothing more satisfying than a big bowl of cereal.  I found some Rice Krispies and dumped them into a bowl.  A scrap of paper fell out and at first I thought it was one of those lame giveaways that children are so fond of… perhaps would be another plastic sub to add to my growing collection.

The minute I picked it up, I knew I was wrong.  It was another note.  I opened it up.  _I’m with you now._

The thought that someone had been in my apartment filled with immediate rage and obliterated everything else from my mind.  How dare someone… no, someone.  There is only one person with a key to my place.  Why would Napoleon sneak into my place and when?  I’d been with him all… no, that’s not true.  I stayed at HQ to finish our report.  Mr. Waverly had taken pity on my partner and sent him home.

I looked down at the note and considered its message, _I’m with you now._   That’s not surprising.  When was he not with me?   It was a rare moment that Napoleon didn’t fill my thoughts.

Finishing my cereal and discovering the plastic sub – blue this time – I tried to make sense of the notes.  Why would Napoleon bother?  Why was he saying these things to me in notes? 

I sat back in the creaky kitchen chair and studied the sub… perhaps there is something going on beneath the surface?  Something Napoleon didn’t feel comfortable discussing with me face to face? We talked all the time.  I told him things no one else had heard and vice versa.  What could he not say to me?  There was only one thing I would never, not even under the pain of torture, admit to him.

A thought suddenly occurred to me… perhaps Napoleon… could Napoleon feel for me?  I shook my head.  _No, impossible!_

And yet… _I’m with you now._

_Napoleon?_

                                                                                ****

Walking into my office, I looked around quickly, but I was the only there.  I was about an hour earlier than normal, but it didn’t make any sense.  I hadn’t slept a wink last night.  All I could think about was my revelation from yesterday.

Illya’s desk was as tidy as always.  No stray bits of scratch paper that I might be to match up to my own.  I could go through his drawers, but I hesitated.  We rarely went through each other’s desk and I had the feeling that I’d just be opening a drawer and he’d walk in.

No, I was through being played for a patsy.  I sat down and tore off the top sheet of my memo pad.  _What are you waiting for?_  was written on the next sheet.  I nearly jumped.  The writing, tiny and precise, was like nothing I’d seen before and yet, it seemed almost familiar. 

What was I waiting for?  Was it the fear of rejection that stayed my hand and muted my tongue?  Illya was not a man to bear fools gladly.  If I said something and he laughed, what would that do to our partnership?  I didn’t want to lose the best thing that had ever happened to me.  I couldn’t.

Illya walked and stopped in surprise.  “Napoleon, what are you doing in so early?  Are you ill?”

“Can’t a man want to catch up on paperwork?”

“Yes, but not you normally.”  Illya sat at his desk and scanned the top.  It was as if he was looking for something… possibly a sign that I’d moved something.  Heh, the Solo luck holds again.

“Well, I’m turning over a new leaf.  I mean, what am I waiting for?”  I waited for a flash of recognition or possible guilt to mar his expression, but there was nothing.  Well, my partner was good.  There was no debating that.

Without meaning to, my gaze dropped to his lap and I suddenly felt an uncomfortable reaction.  Thank God I was sitting down and hidden by my desk.  Even so, I felt my face warm, something Illya didn’t let go unnoticed.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it, Napoleon.  Your secret is safe with me.”

 _You are just whistling Dixie, my friend,_ I thought and started schooling my thoughts into less erotic and more sobering topics.  “Thanks.”

“No trouble.  I am going to go get some coffee.  Is there anything I can get you?”

The sudden image of Illya sprawled naked, save for a rose clutched in his teeth, across my bed sprang to my mind and I groaned.

“Napoleon!”  Illya was at my side, his hand on my shoulder.  “Are you ill?”

“Water?” I managed to gasp and he nodded. 

“I’m calling Medical, too.”

“No, Illya, just some water…”

He was gone and I looked down at my crotch, my penis straining against the fabric of my pants. I wanted Illya so badly it hurt and he was the only one who could possibly be this devious and cunning.  Why the notes?  Why didn’t he just say something?    _What are you waiting for?_  A fast and merciful death – that’s what I was waiting for.

                                                                                ****

 

I nearly ran to the men’s room to get some water.  The trip back, by sheer need, had to be much slower.  I was nearly back to our office when I saw Sammy, the mail clerk, pushing his cart.

“Hey, Mr. Kuryakin, how are you today?”

“Let’s just say that it has gotten off to an adventurous start.”

“Ah, to be Section Two.”  He rummaged around through the hanger files and pulled out a small handful of mail.  “This is yours.”

I didn’t ask for Napoleon’s. I knew by UNCLE’s unspoken rules that no one, not even a partner, could have any mail other than his own.  I glanced down and on the top of the stack was a, by now, very familiar piece of folded paper.

“Sammy?”  My voice was very tight and I nearly drank the water myself.  “Where did you get this?”

“What?  He looked and shook his head.  “That’s weird.  I didn’t put that in there.”

“Then how?”  We reached the office and I let him precede me in.

“I have no idea, sir.”

“You have no idea what, Sammy, my boy?”  Napoleon looked fine now, but I set the glass down on his desk, in case he has another attack.

“Mr. Kuryakin –“

“Was wondering why I get all the work mail and you get all the personal correspondence.”  Sammy was confused, but I winked and that seemed to calm him.  It was all a ruse, of course, he got no more than anyone else.

“Never underestimate the power of a well cut suit, my friend.”  Napoleon preened a little as Sammy handed his mail over and left, still looking a bit confused.

Carrying my handful of mail to the desk, I sat down.  “You seem recovered from your earlier attack.  Perhaps it was something you ate last night.”

He muttered something under his breath.  I swear it sounded like, “I should be so lucky.”  He got up and quickly left the room.

The second the door slid shut, I grabbed the note.  _I’m yours.  Ask me to do anything._

My hand crumbled the note without my realizing it.  I’d wanted Napoleon since practically the moment I’d set eyes on him, but I’d been cautioned that American males are different than their European cousins.  In love, but unable to be show love – it had been a condition of my employment here for so long, I didn’t know anything else.  Now… this?

It had to be Napoleon.  He was the only one who made sense.  He had a key to my apartment and he knew my habits.  He had come in early this morning.  He had the ability and the anonymity He knew and he wanted it.  I wanted and I knew it.

Napoleon came back in, his face looking as if he’d just washed it.  I stood up and walked to him.  “Are you all right, Napoleon?”  I reached for him, but he shied away from my hand.

His eyes, usually so clear and knowing, looked confused.  “I’m… in a bit of a bind, Partner,” he murmured.  “I’m not sure what to do about it.   Don't think.  Don't question. Just do.  Easier said than done, don’t you think?”

“I… “  I was stumped.  I had no idea what he was talking about.  It was as if he was expecting something from me, some sort of reaction.  I decided to play a wild card.  “I’m watching you and I’m with you now.”

“Obviously.”

That wasn’t the response I was expecting… they say desperate times call for desperate actions and I could wait no more.

Grabbing two handfuls of jacket lapel, I yanked Napoleon to me and kissed him.  Knowing it was probably my only chance, I was determined to make it memorable.   There was suddenly something hard behind me, the wall, I guessed, and Napoleon was pressing hard against me, his tongue asking, no, demanding, entrance.  I happily gave it to him, feeling our tongues meet in a joyous dance. 

His knee was between mine and he was moving against my thigh, rock hard and desperate.  I responded, who wouldn’t it?  Thrusting and I felt his hands, grabbing my waist, my ass.

He moaned and I swallowed it, determined to keep this all to myself.  Then I felt my penis throbbed in time with my heart and realized I’d climaxed.  Napoleon was still moving, so I matched his cadence until he suddenly gasped and relaxed in my arms.

“Wow…”

“And then some.”

“You know, Napoleon, if you’d wanted this, you only had to ask.  You didn’t needed to leave me those notes.”

“What do you mean?  You were leaving notes for me.”

“No… to hell with it.  Whose place is closer?”

Napoleon grinned.  “Mine, by ten minutes.”

“Let’s do it.”

“We just did.”

“I mean, let’s leave and do this again properly.”

“There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“If I start, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop.”

I grinned.  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

 

A shadow watched the two men hurry for Napoleon’s car.  They were barely able to keep their hands off each other.  Somehow they managed to get into the car and drive away.  After a moment, the figure took a pipe out and lit it.

“About time,” Alexander Waverly muttered.  As he walked away, he dropped a handful of undelivered notes into the trash.  “About time, indeed.”


End file.
